The Girl From the Seam
by RasberryGirl
Summary: "So it wasn't just my imagination...the girl from the Seam has been watching me as well." Semi-chronological one shots about the ever evolving relationship between Peeta and Katniss. Various POVs. Ratings will span from K through M.
1. Surface

**The Girl From the Seam: Surface, rated K+**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. **

_A/N: Events before, during and after the books are fair game. Let me know what you think. _**  
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** Surface**

My gaze raises from the cracked surface of my desktop, curious at the sudden tension in our crowded room. That's when I see her.

It's not that death is so elusive for the rest of us. Though it will never be a true equalizer between merchant and miner children, even a baker's son like me won't be spared from the reaping when the time comes. The Capitol dictates this reality.

What else is true is that the whole of District 12 resides above those treacherous caverns; the faces of the five other kids in this class whose mothers or fathers were killed there eliminate any lingering novelty of death.

The difference is that their parents died years ago. Not yesterday.

Everyone is still silent as she passes to my left.

Her thin shoulders are hunched up like a baby bird's, dark gray eyes fixed to the scuffed tiles of the floor. She can't weigh more than a half sack of flour and yet her light steps have created a pounding in my temples. I'm forced to bite my lip hard, so many of my questions threaten to break this wordless spectacle.

Why is she here? Why would our teacher, who must be accustomed to this exact situation, allow it? Why would her _mother_ allow it? The need to understand this seems unbearable.

Then a small voice in my mind that sounds almost like my own mother demands, _Why does it matter?_

"Miss Everdeen," our teacher finally speaks up. "The administration is aware of your situation. You're not required to be here today."

The whispered response is so soft I nearly miss it.

"He wanted me to learn."

I continue to stare at my fingertips as they explore those ragged edges, because there is no point in turning to see the expression on her face as she sits behind me.

I am positive it would not have revealed anything at all.


	2. Tesserae

**The Girl From the Seam: Tesserae, rated K+**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them.**

_A/N: Thanks for your reviews so far. A happy one next time, promise._

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**Tesserae**

The afternoon sun blazes high over the square, but I'm not worried about the weather. How well this expensive shirt will hold up in the heat. The way my father held me to his chest, almost painfully tight, before pushing me towards the other twelve year old boys swarming before the raised platform. There's no more room in my head for these things when I'm thinking of how much I hate that number.

Four. Bad enough to have one slip with your name on it than to have _four_.

Maybe it's not so many entries compared to the older kids. Especially ones from the Seam, barely better off than her. I'll probably never know what it means to be hungry which is why I don't have the right to be angry with her choice.

But I can't help what I feel.

A burst of applause tells me someone must have unearthed Haymitch Abernathy. Somehow, I doubt he'd care if she died on his watch. That would mean staying sober long enough to realize she was in danger. I feel a rush of embarrassment, then unexpected rage as I watch him trip and stumble his way to a chair.

A gangly, freckled boy slaps me on the back just as the clapping begins to die down.

"Don't look so mad, Mellark!" he says. "Really, there's no point. We're only twelve. We'll be okay."

Despite the bleakness of my thoughts I grin back at him. Odin Birch's family runs the locksmith shop a few businesses down from ours. We pretty much grew up together.

"Yeah, you're right," I shrug, sticking my hands in my pockets. Odin's quiet chatter blends into the background while my eyes skim across the massive cluster of twelve-year old girls. For whom, I'm certain. I'm still not sure why.

Here's the thing. I wouldn't have ever known about her tesserae if I hadn't been late to the bakery on my last birthday. I'd gotten caught up in this soccer game right after school. Bo and Asher's gift was to cover for me as long as I didn't take too long.

I ran full out towards home after it was over, really not all that fast but hopefully enough to avoid the crack of our mother's palm. I had just made it to the southern end of the square when the flash of a sleek dark braid caught my eye.

There she was. Pulling a rusted toy wagon piled with oil and burlap sacks of grain down the sidewalk.

For some reason my brothers didn't tease my puffy, red-rimmed eyes when I did get home. Even my mother didn't demand an explanation for being so late. Who knows. Maybe they believed it had just occurred to me that turning twelve meant I was also fair game for the reaping.

"...and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" a blue-haired Effie Trinket maniacally chirps, pulling me all the way back to the present and the end of my first reaping.

I blink twice, but it's true-both tributes are already being hustled down the stairs into a barrage of flashing lights, followed by a sullen Haymitch.

My brothers are safe, I'm safe. She is safe.

Because of the crowds it's slow going with my older brothers to the bakery where our parents, though relieved, have always rushed back to in order to accommodate the celebratory demand. On the way we pass a thin woman and her tiny blonde daughter heading the opposite way. Leading them is the girl from the Seam. For all intents, the head of their little family.

And just like that, it's my birthday again. When the sight of that toy wagon shattered any childish hope I had held of being able to protect her.

When I realized I could burn a loaf of bread every day for the rest of my life, and it would still never be enough.


	3. Songbird

**The Girl From the Seam: Songbird, rated K**

_A/N: This one deviates a bit from THG's canon. Points to whoever gets the vague Mockingjay reference :)_

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Songbird  
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"Peeta...Peeta Mellark!"

Uh oh. Papa's voice is very loud. I wave to all my friends and run fast towards Papa because he doesn't look happy.

"Sorry Papa! I like school a lot!" I explain, all out of breath.

"That's good. But don't ignore me when I call you," he says.

"Okay."

He puts his warm hand on my head as we walk home.

"Tell me about your day, son."

"I got a desk and a tablet and a book called a primer. Our teacher says we don't have to share those!" I tell him. I hold up my primer so he can see. "And we learned about a lot of people. Bad people and good ones too, like President Snow. Our teacher says President Snow is the best one!"

I look up at Papa when he makes that ugly noise in his throat. Why is he frowning?

"What's wrong, Papa?"

"Nothing, Peeta. Your teacher is right. Did you make any friends?"

"Yeah...a lot! I did tradecrafts with Shale Dixon. She's got curly red hair and she's pretty. We drew some animals and bugs and big houses. Our teacher said we did a good job. Then I made paper letters with Delly Cartwright and Eve Miles and Madge Undersee. They're really nice, Papa, and they are pretty, too. But Delly talks funny!"

Papa raises his eyebrows. "Oh? How so?"

I show Papa how Delly Cartwright has no teeth in the front and he laughs.

"Poor girl. You'll lose those as well, fairly soon ."

"Huh?" I try to wiggle my teeth but it doesn't work. I think Papa might be wrong.

"Oh, yes," he says, laughing again. "Five years old and you've already got a little harem. Sounds great."

Now we're in the square where there's lots of shops like ours. Papa lets us go with him sometimes when he gets things for the bakery. Papa says hello to the men by the carts so I do, too. But I feel a funny thing in my belly now as we head home.

I kick a rock that bounces onto the street. "There was this one boy who made me mad."

"Tell me what happened," Papa says softly. I wipe my nose.

"Okay, um...our teacher asked us if we knew the Valley Song. I never heard that. Nobody did except this girl. She wore a red dress and has long black braids. She sang the whole song, Papa! No one wanted her to stop but she did. Then we played in the yard," I say. My cheeks feel hot now.

"Hmm, that doesn't sound so bad," Papa says after awhile. "Then what?"

"All the boys played ball but I think that girl wanted to play too. I wanted her to play with us and said so. But then Roan Bishop said, "Why? She's not very big, and not very pretty." Then I wanted to punch Roan hard! But I didn't."

This is not a funny story. So why is Papa laughing again? When he looks down at me he ruffles my hair. "Sorry, son. What _did_ you do?"

I smile because this is the only good part.

"I told Roan, "You're wrong! Katniss Everdeen is the prettiest girl. Even the mockingjays think so.""

Papa is quiet for a long time. I pull on his sleeve and he looks at me again. "It's really true, Papa. They wouldn't stop singing the Valley Song after Katniss was done. Our teacher had to close the windows."

"I believe you," Papa tells me, looking up at the cloudy sky. "I knew that girl's mother when we were younger. I loved her, but she chose someone else. Just think... she could have been your mother, and that girl would be your sister."

We're home now and through the glass door, I can see the people inside at the counter. I think Papa doesn't notice. He just stays outside with me, holding my hand as we watch the clouds. I feel sorry for Papa. But my belly feels all weird again, this time in a good way.

Maybe because I'm happy that girl isn't my sister.


	4. Focus

**The Girl From the Seam: Focus, rated K+**

_A/N: Six months before THG. Let me know if you like this POV._**  
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Focus  
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This place is loud, overcrowded, and frankly, it's all I can do not to roll my eyes as those two well-fed merchant boys grunt and headlock each other on the rubber mats in front of us. I look down at the girl sitting next to me. I'm about to ask her why exactly she wanted to come here when I see it again. That look.

For a second, I think hard about that particular look-the one expression I've seen only a handful of times over the days, months, years that I've known her-and some strange understanding finally clicks in me. And it makes me sick.

With fear? Not exactly. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe jealousy. Perhaps somewhere deep down, it always was.

It's not as if her watching him was an obvious thing. Odd times-in the square while he's hauling bags of flour over one shoulder. In the halls, when the only thing that would pull her attention from me or her sister is the sight of him, usually surrounded by other town kids. Stolen glances here or there during a barter at the bakery that no one else would think twice about it. Until now.

I wonder if she even realizes when it's happening. How her smoky gray eyes soften before the rest of her face follows, opening up in a way I honestly didn't think was possible.

Don't ask me why it's taken me this long to see how she focuses on him, that blond baker's son who probably doesn't even know her name. I couldn't tell you. I've concluded it's no coincidence we're at this assembly, however.

"Gale?"

All traces of her former transparency are gone. She's frowning at me, perplexed. "Gale. What's wrong?"

_Only everything, Catnip._

I shrug, leaning forward on the wooden bleacher so that my elbows rest on my knees.

"Nothing. Never realized you were so keen on sports is all," I comment.

"I'm not. Why would I be? It's good and warm in here is all," she says without missing a beat. But her eyes have already slid from mine and back down to the gym floor. "We'll be in the woods soon enough."

I finally smile; she's actually just given me the perfect out.

"Sure, Katniss. I'll just think about all that game we _could _be trapping right now...if you weren't such a wimp."

And she's on her feet in a blink.

"Last one to the fence skins the squirrels!" she says to me before darting down the rickety bleachers and out the double doors. Laughing at her predictability, I'm out of the gymnasium and chasing her into the brisk cold of the afternoon in seconds. We go the several miles through town in silence, breathing out thin puffs of air as we run towards the meadow.

This is better, I think. The way it should be.

But a part of me feels petty for manipulating her, though it's clear she's given not a second thought to my motivation; that I could even have any other reason than the desire to get started on the task of feeding our families.

Just like she has no idea why it would bother me to watch her staring so intently at Peeta Mellark.


End file.
